Moths
by Jo Eilyah
Summary: As a child he had loved to chase the butterflies through his mother's rose garden. In school the butterflies became girls he chased when he was young and careless. Slowly, the darkness crept in and the colors faded. The butterflies left, and the moths came. His mothers voice whispered back to him from his childhood, "Moths are the ghosts of butterflies."
1. Moths

It was the light streaming through the window that woke him. He reached up to close the ancient curtains, silently cursing the house elves for not doing so before he woke up. But he didn't feel heavy velvet under his fingertips, in fact his fingers seemed to be made of lead. He slowly cracked open his heavy eyes, memories of fear and anxiety coursing through him as he sought to take in his surroundings. He was in a hospital, not his bedroom in his childhood home. How did he get here? Why did moving feel like swimming in concrete? And where was… His eyes shot open.

"Hermione!" He had to find her. He struggled to sit up, rustling came from his right. He was in no condition to fight, but if they had her… if they had hurt her… he was sure he could find the strength. Rustling came from his right and Madam Pomphrey hurried from her office. He was at Hogwarts, yes, he remembered now. There had been the Final Battle … death hugged the walls. Many had died, and he supposed he should find out who had lived. But he only cared about one, the one who should have still been here beside him.

"Lie down, I did not bring you back from the brink of death to have you kill yourself moving too fast now." Madam Pomphrey pushed him back down, which may have been for the best. Black dots had begun to swim in his vision. But he still didn't know…

"Where's Hermione?" Silence met him as the old witch bustled around his bedside, mixing motions and then handing him a glass of what looked like melted troll skin.

"Drink," she ordered.

"Not until you tell me what happened to Hermione!" It was supposed to be a command, but he could hear his voice quiver, pleading. She had been right next to him, he could still feel the ghost of her had in his as the explosion went off. She couldn't be … no. He survived, she had too. She had too. He felt a hand laid gently on his arm, he wouldn't look at her, not wanting to see the pity on her face. He was not weak, never weak.

"You'll do no good to her like this, mate." Through the double doors walked his friend by association. After all, the enemy of your enemy is your friend. No weakness here, there was no love lost between them, not matter how cordial the greeting was. The newcomer shrugged, "But maybe you never really cared for her at all. Maybe you don't have the strength to be strong for her. I always thought you would balk at doing anything truly difficult." He was being goaded and he knew it. And it was working, blast it all. He glared, took the glass, and downed its contents, focusing on keeping it down, knowing it would be twice as horrid on the way up.

"Where is she?" His voice scratched, the potion burned down his throat. His enemy sat on the end of his bed, presumptuous prick. If he didn't tell him where she was he was going to bury him 6 feet under, like he had planned so many times during their years of school.

"She's alive and healthy … but she's…," the man hesitated. Then ran his hands through his hair and down his face. "If I help you can you walk."

"I don't need help from you, Weasley," the venom in is voice could have killed a man. But the ginger just stood and sighed.

"Have it your way, Malfoy," he stood and waited. He was a Malfoy, he could stand on his own, he was not weak. Never weak. He repeated that as a mantra in his mind as he slowly peeled back to covers, and swung his legs out of bed. He felt tiered already, but he wouldn't show it. The potion burning in his veins gave him some strength. It just took much longer to collect. He stood, and gestured for Weasley to take the lead. Instead of following him back out the double doors he had walked in, as Draco expected, he was lead to the back corner of the hospital wing. There was a door he had never seen before, tucked away in the corner, half hidden by privacy screens. Weasley knocked twice and waited, then knocked three times in rapid succession. The door swung inward. The ginger took a step forward, and then hesitated. Turning back to Draco he said gently, "She's healthy, mate, no broken bones, the bruised have healed, and the scars will fade with time. Her health is in perfect order."

"What are you prattling on about now, Weasley, just let me see her." Why couldn't this oaf get out of his way? If she was fine, why the secret room, why the hesitancy? Maybe he could help her. The fear and anxiety returned, people don't reassure unless there is something to fear. He pushed past the Weasel King and strode into the room with as much dignity as he could, which wasn't much when he had to lean on the wall after a few steps. The room looked like it was once an extension of the infirmary. A few beds and privacy screens, empty bottles the once held SkelGro and Sleeping Draught. One corner was out of place, it had been turned into a sort of living area. There was a wardrobe and a desk, and a bed. It was the figure in the bed that drew his attention. She was a slip of a girl, not malnourished per say, but she lacked the lively quality that made one look … well, alive. She was staring at a dozen butterflies that were dancing around her head. She smiled, the smile of someone who takes pleasure in the little things. Those butterflies made her happy.

"Hermione, I brought you a visitor," Weasley called to her from behind Draco. She squinted, Draco slowly walked, limped, closer. The butterflies slowed in their dance, and slowly began to fall. No, not butterflies he realized, moths. They were midnight blue, and as the fell they dissolved into a shower of sparks that twirled in the air around her until they faded. She stared at him blankly.

"Hermione?" His voice came out a whisper. She cocked her head and squinted again. Then she nodded and closed her eyes. Weasley placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to a chair beside her bed, gratefully Draco sank into it. What was wrong with her. Her lips began to move and she cupped her hands in front of her. Emerald sparks gathered, a new moth formed much large than the last ones. She smiled at it as in perched on her palm. She held it out to Draco. He held out his hand and it daintily crawled over. She looked at him wistfully, and folded her hands into her lap. He didn't want to hold her moth, he wanted to hold her. But something held him back, something wasn't right.

"Hermione, do you know who I am?" The moment the words left his lips he decided he didn't want to know. He would just sit and hold as many moths as she wanted him to. Then tears began to glisten in her eyes, and when his vision began to blur he realized that they had also gather in his own. He blinked hard refusing to let them fall. Not now, not with Weasley here.

"Another one," she whispered. He turned back to her.

"Another one, what?" his voice cracked. He blinked harder.

She shook her head and the tears glided down her face. "Go. Too many. Please." She crawled under the covers and pulled them over her head.

Draco could feel Weasley's hand firmly on his shoulder, but he couldn't move. "Come on, Malfoy. We need to go." Draco stood numbly to his feet, he didn't even notice when Weasley placed an arm around him to help him walk back to his bed. As he lay there, propped by pillows, he stared at the door.

"What…" he couldn't bring himself to say more. Weasley rubbed his face again.

"The Great Hall crumbled. It took two days to move the rubble to see if there were any survivors. We found you and Hermione buried by where the house points once stood, covered in glass." He shook his head. Draco looked down at his hands crisscrossed with scars. He remembers the ceiling falling, he threw himself over her. One scar didn't match the others. "We hauled you both out of there an up here. Hermione responded first. One night she woke up… and she screamed." Draco hadn't noticed how hooded he childhood enemy's eyes. "She just screamed and screamed, a MediWitch gave the Draught and she slept again. When she woke up …" Weasley looked him straight in the eye. A year ago, he would have sneered at him. Now he feared what was coming. "She doesn't remember a thing, mate. She like a child. She walks and eats and sleeps and smiles, but she doesn't remember who she is or why she's here." Draco looked back down at his hands. At the curved silver line, that was too precise to have been from glass or rock. But it shouldn't be silver, it should be red and healing.

"How long?" His voice was a whisper. "How long?" He said more firmly. Weasley sighed and looked away.

"Hermione woke up a week after the Battle ended." Weasley avoided his gaze. Draco gritted his teeth.

"And how long has it been since then?" Draco ground out. Weasley's hooded eyes look back at him.

"It's been 6 months, Malfoy." He sighed and looked out the window at the snow that slowly drifter from the sky. "You've been unconscious for 6 months."


	2. Awake

Pain… all she could feel was pain. It tore through her body and lit her veins on fire. Her throat was sore, she heard screaming. Then she put the pieces together. _She_ was screaming. She felt a glass being forced into her mouth and felt ice flowing down her throat, soothing it. The pain floated away. She was asleep again.

She heard noises. Scuffling, voices.

"Do you think she'll be ok?"

"Is she in pain?"

"When do you think she'll wake up?"

"At least the screaming has stopped…"

 _Constant vigilance_ … the words floated into her mind and she tried to grab them. They floated away. Should she be afraid? Why would she be afraid? Where was she? She thought a little harder. Who was she? She cracked her eye lids, instinctively needing to see where she was before her … captors knew she was awake.

"I think I saw her eyes open!"

"Move back! Give her room to breathe everyone!" That voice was bossy. She opened her eyes, taking in the people surrounding the bed that she was lying in.

"Hermione! We're so glad you're awake!" There was a boy with hair that looked as if it were on fire. He sat in a chair at her right, and was grinning broadly. Hermione, he'd said. What a strange name. Was it hers? To her left there was a black-haired boy, he had round glasses and a scar. He looked tired, like he needed this bed more than she did. When he caught her eye, the corners of his mouth tilted up, but his eyes remained glassy.

"Awake," she whispered. "I'm awake." She looked around. The colors were so different than the blackness. Her eyes watered from the light, she blinked them away. There were so many people, too many people, all looking at her. She sat up and curled into herself, feeling trapped, clutching the sheets so hard that it hurt. The pain grounded her.

"Hermione?" It was the fire haired boy again. Looking around, many of the people here had fire hair. Did she? She touched her head, and was met with a tangled, bushy mane. She trailed her fingers through the knots, it was brown. They all were staring. Could she escape? No, no escape. There were too many.

"Hermione?" It was whispered this time. "You're safe. Do you know that? You're safe now." The fire boy was worried now, no more smiling.

Safe, safe, safe. Safe was good.

"Who…where…?" Who am I? Who are you? Where am I? Too many people.

"Hermione, do you know who we are?" It was the dark-haired boy this time. He looked even more tired. She looked around. All the faces were worried now, no more smiles. She had taken their smiles.

"Too many," She whispered. "Too many, too many." She hugged her knees.

"All right you lot, let's give her space. I'm sure there's food to be had. Let's get her some. Be quick about it!" It was the bossy voice. It belonged to a round woman with fire hair, lots of fire hair. _Mother…_ but not her mother. Did she have a mother? The group ambled out giant double doors at the end of many beds. Their mother. The scared boy and the fire boy remained. They looked sad. She didn't like it. She pulled the blankets over her head. She couldn't see the sad people. They couldn't see here. She smiled.

"Hermione … do you …. How do you feel?" They still saw her. She frowned. She peeked out from the blankets. The dark-haired boy had his head in his hands. So sad. The fire boy tried to smile at her, it was a sad smile.

"Feel fine. Fine, fine," she whispered. Fire boy's face glistened. She wanted to touch it. She reached out, it was wet. She felt her face, it was wet too. "Sad. Everyone sad." All her fault, no more smiles. She pulled the covers over her had again. No more sad. She was tiered now. She closed her eyes, the darkness came back.

Pain, pain. In her fingers and her toes, she wanted to laugh, to be happy, it was time to be happy. There had been too much sad. _When all this is over, I promise you, we will be happy._ When is it over? The voice was sure. Would it tell her? She trained to ask it, but then she heard her voice. It was busy screaming.

"Hermione! Hermione, you are alright! It's okay!" Arms grabbed her, they shook her. _Run._ She kicked and flailed. The arms let go and she toppled off the bed. _Run._ She ran, big doors opened. The fire people were back. She turned and ran. There was a door. A hidden door. She opened it. Lots of blankets in the corner. She jumped on them. Some blankets started to fly away. _Butterfly ghosts_. She smiled and watched them spin in the air.

Outside her door there was whispering. The door creaked. She pulled the blankets over her head.

"Hermione… it's Ron. Just me ok?" She peeked out of her blankets. Fire boy poked his head in the door. He was scared now. It was over, the voice promised happiness. No one seemed happy. She need him to be happy. She looked around and pointed in the air.

"Butterfly ghosts!" She smiled at him.

"The moths?" He looked up and frowned. _Moths, moths._ He wasn't happy. She frowned.

She pointed at him. "Happy." She smiled at him, then looked up again. "Butterfly ghosts." She looked back at him again.

Fire boy rubbed his neck, and looked from there to the insects. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Butterfly ghosts. Ok." He took a few steps closer, hands in his pockets now. "Do you like them?" She nodded. His smile grew. "Good." He sat on the floor by her blankets, but he didn't touch them. He didn't talk more. He just sat with her and watched her friends dance. She was tired again, the blackness came. She didn't like the dark.

White replaced the darkness, she blinked against the sunlight streaming through the window. She sat up and looked around. She was in a pile of blankets, but instead of being on the floor she was on a bed. The corner of the room and been cleaned up. Next to the bed she was on was a chair… where fire boy was sound asleep. She watched him. She didn't know why he was still here. But he was nice to here.

"Hermione!" His shout startled her. She hid back under her blankets. She could hear him breathing, as if there wasn't enough air. Once his breathing slowed, she peeked out of her blankets. His head was in his hands. At the sound of her rustling, he looked up, his eyes looked sad. Tired. He laughed, and she jumped, startled again. "Why couldn't it have been me?" he stared out the window, looking but not seeing. "If I were in that bed, you could have fix me. You would have read all the books, found all the pieces. It's second year all over again. Except this time, the answer isn't curled up in your hand." Then fire boy got up and left.


	3. The Library

Ch 3 The Library

Ok, ok, Hermione was temporarily out of commission. He could work through this. His began to breath rapidly and had to concentrate on slowing it down. In, out, in, out. He couldn't afford to loose control, not when there was so little to be had. They had been through worse than this, the past year, the past few weeks, they could do this. They weren't running for their lives, they weren't waiting to be stabbed in the back. They could do this.

Malfoy sighed, and lay back against the pillows. All his life he had been taught to plan and to scheme, to have a silver tongue and mislead at every turn. He had begun to hope that there could be days without plans, lazy days in the sun, with nothing to do. Peace. He had allowed himself to hope for peace. He should have known better. Draco shook himself. Malfoys didn't wallow in self-pity, they got what they wanted no matter the price. And that's what he would do. He swung upright, throwing his legs over the bed. His head swam, and he cursed.

"Where do you think you're going, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomphrey moved swiftly to his bed, her quick movements spoke of years of bullying students back into bed. But he was no longer a student, and he was motivated by more than missed Quidditch practice or homework or boredom.

"What's left of the library?" Books always held the answers. He knew that from years of always seeing a bushy head hiding behind them, and years of always placing second best.

"You are in no condition to go trolling about looking for books." Malfoy tried to think as the world slowly stopped swimming and prepared himself to test his weight on his feet again. "Mr. Malfoy, you need rest."

He stared the MediWitch in the eye, his own eyes blazing. "Apparently, I have been resting. For 6 months, which sounds like plenty of rest to me. So, if you would be so kind as to get out of my way, I won't tear apart your life for your incompetence."

"Good to see you still know how to make others feel like slime, Malfoy. I truly believe you're on the mend now." Weasley slouched, smirking against the wall. What Draco wouldn't give to wipe that smirk right off his face. The ginger strode forward and whispered to the plump woman that stood in way of Draco and his answers. She huffed indigently and stalked back to her office. Draco glanced at him. Weasley shrugged and stood by his side. "To the library right."

Draco was determined not to give Weasley the satisfaction. He would hold it together, he didn't need help.

"How's it going over there, Ferret? You seem to be leaning to the left a little there." Draco scowled, and righted himself. His vision blurred, he briefly wondered if Weasley would carry him back to the Hospital Wing if he collapsed. Weasley caught him before he fell and ducked under Draco's arm. "Alright, mate, hold it together. If you fall apart under my care, Madam Pomphrey is going to kill me." The corridor came swimming back into view.

"Ok, Weasel, you can get off me now," Draco tried to shrug him off, and his would went fuzzy again.

"You know what, Malfoy? I think I'm going to hold on to you for now. You can thank me later." Weasley supported Draco the rest of the way to the library.

The journey was rough, even with magic repairing a castle as ancient as Hogwarts took time. There was rubble strewn throughout the hallways, empty frames hung haphazardly on the walls. The floor was clean of the smaller debris though, no shattered glass, no small stones or shredded fabric that would come from an exploding castle. Head way had been made, but it would take years still to get Hogwarts back to its former glory.

When thy finally got to the library, he was sweating and wanted nothing more than to sit and breath. Even with Weasley's help, the trip had taken a much larger toll than he had expected. Weasley sat him on a bit of broken pillar out side the doors of the library to take a moment to breath. The redhead then traveled to the large oak doors and pulled them open. Draco took in a sharp breath. The library… looked like it had been the eye of the storm. It was pristine. Light shown through the windows, books lined the shelves. A fire crackled amidst a group of overstuffed armchairs. To top it all off Madam Pince sat at her desk looking disapprovingly over her spectacles.

"How...?" Draco whispered. He wished Hermione was here with him. He was sure that the love and care that had been given to her precious books would bring her right back to herself. Weasley shrugged and pulled Draco's arm back over his shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

"We finished last week," the boy said absently. "We had to start somewhere and …" he sighed. "We haven't brought her down yet. I don't know if I could stand it if it didn't help in some way." Draco nodded, understanding his companion more that he would have liked. Weasley deposited Draco in a chair by the fire and brought over a large stack of volumes ranging from ancient to recent editions, judging from the bindings. "I've been working through these as we found them. We're not sure what curse it was that brought the Great Hall down, there was chaos from there." His hands rand through his fiery hair. "There's so much that I realize your missing, but I don't know where to start, mate. It is easier in some way because I know you think like me. You just want to know how to help Hermione." Weasley smirked. "All those years ago, who'd have thought, eh? You and me discussing what we have in common."

Draco smirked back. "Hermione finally got what she wanted …" _but at what cost?_ He sobered. "Have you made any progress?" Weasley shook his head.

"You're better at this than I am though. Merlin knows I wouldn't have made it through Hogwarts without Hermione. Now that your awake, we'll make progress. We have to." The last comment was whispered under his breath. Draco felt a spark of pity for the man. He himself was desperate to help, and he'd only known about Hermione's condition for 2 days. He couldn't imagine living with this helplessness for months on end.

"Well, then, Weasel King. Let's get started, shall we?" Weasley nodded and they each cracked open a volume


End file.
